Two Minutes Too Late
by Hikari Holmes
Summary: If Sherlock had been there two minutes earlier, their lives would have been drastically changed for the better.


Warning: Sadness and Death hehe

Disclaimer: I don't own them :(

Word Count: 846

"The past is playing with my head.

It's taunting me, toying around inside my brain, manifesting images and projecting voices that I've tried so hard to block out. I've done everything just to push it away, but it always finds a way to seep back into my head and like a film, play it's self over and over in my head until the point where I'm sobbing my eyes out and struggling to breathe. It's like I'm unwillingly sadistic, but I can't control myself, or even my thoughts. It's pathetic, really.

I'm my own worst enemy.

My failure constantly knocks me down and takes over my emotions, and reminds me if the wrong, that I've said and done, that devil stubbornly refuses to let me forget.

I can't escape the monster that haunts me if I am he. It's impossible to tear myself away from it and hide, if it lives within me. It feeds of pain, disorder, dillusion, self destruction, the filth of this fucked up world. It harvests the agony of my friends and family and generously spreads it throughout my heart and lets it harden into numbness. How can I cast this demon out?

Everything I loved because everything that I lost, and I find myself with tears streaming down my face because I've lost so many things I can never replace. I've suddenly become so alone, this solitude in its self is a reason to die. Isolation congeals with torment to create mistakes and regret, scars I can never erase, no matter who or what stumbles helplessly into my life. I struggle with my pain and wrestle with my pride, that in the end creates an agony that transforms into depression. I didn't know when it started or when exactly it will stop, but I'm not sure if I can live through this. I have lost the will to change.

It seems to much to bare.

I subconsciously sift through my thoughts constantly, all my mistakes become evident in my mind, and I relive those days in the middle of the night.

I stay up days and nights on end, tormented by memories of my loved ones that are no longer here anymore, and beat myself up because I feel like I could have saved them. I just can't pick my arse up and move on, because I'm chained down by an incredible amount of grief and suffering. I'm prisoner to my own mind, and I feel like I'll remain like that until the day I die.

I can't move on successfully or willingly, I don't want to forget, because after six months, you start to forget what they look like…forget how they smell, how they carry themselves around, you start to forget their voice, their habits, and…it's terrifying. I don't want to forget what I've lost.

I don't want to forget Sherlock.

There just seems to be no point in living anymore. No one's there, the only thing that has stuck beside me all this time has been pain, and malice has taken over my emotions.

My heart is filled with hate.

I don't fit in, I don't feel like I belong anywhere, and I don't measure up too much in this life. Everything seems so helpless, but the bottle's always there when I have no where else to turn. I could drink myself to death so easily, but there's always the reminder that I have a.. family, which consists of Mrs. Hudson and I. I'm to care for her, in her old age, so that prevents me from taking the fatal action.

But she doesn't really need me. No one does. I'm just a waste of space, an oxygen thief, a regret, a mistake. Everyone I've really cared about has abandoned me, so there seems like no reason to move on and grow.

I look in the mirror everyday and I face a complete stranger with such a broken down interior that it wouldn't surprise me if people cringed every time they glanced at me. I can't bare to see the man I've been rising up in me again. But you can't run from your problems, and you can't run from yourself, so I'll just sit here and wait, for you to return home again.

Thing is, I'm tired of waiting, and I'm tired of living for a man that has died to come back and tell me that everything is okay.

Today, I will jump too, just to be with you."

-John Watson

_Today the ambulance came, to pick up Mrs. Hudson from the heart attack she suffered with after reading John's suicide note, and seeing his dead body at the bottom of the building._

_Today, John had killed himself, the agony too much to bear without his Sherlock._

_But the saddest thing, was that today, Sherlock came back. Sherlock came back to see his best friend falling from the building he descended upon three years ago, the two had made eye contact as the taller man watched in horror as his best friend dropped dead._

_John regretted jumping as the shock of seeing the "dead" man burned in his mind,_

_But it was too late._

_Too late by two minutes._


End file.
